


From Ashes

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Human Trafficking, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 09:52:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission to gather intel...but getting caught breaking into a human trafficking operation's headquarters is never a good thing...





	From Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere generally in Season 2...

WAR ROOM

THE LAST PLACE ANYONE WANTS TO BE ON A SATURDAY MORNING

It’s rare that Jack sees a mission personally affect Matty. There was that time with her god-daughter’s death, but it’s usually only family that can get her this riled.

When she pulls up pictures on the screen, her eyes are watery. There’s a body of a young man, partially covered with a crime scene tarp but clearly naked, or at least almost so. Jack’s eyes are drawn to the back of the man’s neck, where there’s a mark that looks like a tattoo of some kind. “Ten hours ago, the body of Kevin Lisson was found in the Hudson River. This was the first time he was seen in three and a half years.” She flicks to a missing persons report showing a smiling boy, likely a senior picture. The age on the missing poster says 20.

“Kevin was a college student at Johns Hopkins, a brilliant young man whose parents said he wanted to become a pediatric surgeon. He was a straight A student, and one of his professors asked him to be his teaching assistant for the next year. And then two weeks before his spring semester ended, he disappeared. The only lead the police had was that he had been seen eating in the cafeteria with a tall redheaded girl who didn’t show up in the university databases.” Matty sighs. “His parents financed a fairly large reward for any information, but nothing was found. Official stance was that he’d decided to run off with his supposed girlfriend.”  

“I guess that’s not it at all.” Jack shrugs. “Why’s this coming to us?”

“Because when his body was found, there was a microchip in his neck. Some sort of tracker and, apparently, a way to record payments.”

“Traffickers.” Jack has dealt with a lot of scumbags in his day, but he hopes there’s a special place reserved in hell for people who sell other human beings like a sack of flour. _I’ve seen it too often._

“Riley’s just finished analyzing the data on the chip,” Matty says. “There’s very little to track this trafficking ring down. The data was wiped each time...each time Mr. Lisson returned from a...job.”

“So what went wrong this time?” Jack asks.

“They assume he had a particularly brutal client. Cause of death was strangulation, fibers found on his neck indicated silk cord.” Matty shudders.

“This chip is custom built,” Riley says. “Custom coded as well. It takes serious talent to design something like this. And a lot of resources to make.”

“So we’re looking at something that could be a massive operation,” Mac says quietly.

“The chip sent payments through an encrypted line. I’m going to see if I can break it and get a location.”

Jack can’t sit still while they wait. He paces the room, kicking at any of the furniture in his way. Mac bends a paperclip into the shape of a teardrop. Bozer and Leanna sit in silence. Jack can’t stop looking at the smiling boy on the missing poster, and the body covered in a tarp on the evidence file. The kid was blond and blue-eyed, a little too much like Mac for Jack to ignore. His heart flips at the thought of Mac at MIT back in the day. _What if he’d become a target?_ Jack can’t imagine what it would be like if the first time he saw Mac was here in the War Room as part of a case file.

“I’ve got a location,” Riley says. “But…” She throws the image to the screen. “That’s one of the warehouses for IntelliCorp. They’re one of the biggest tech suppliers in the states.”

“No wonder they had such high-tech gadgets. Looks like they’re using their powers for evil,” Jack mutters.

* * *

INTELLICORP

SUPPLIERS OF COMPUTER COMPONENTS...AND HUMANS

Mac slips into the building with the ease he’s come to expect from posing as janitorial staff. No one looks twice at the people in coveralls pushing mop pails. _Invisible people._ Mac worries about what other kind of invisible people have come through this building.

 _Trafficking rings usually take people who won’t be missed. That’s probably the backbone of their business. To be able to risk taking someone as high profile as a medical student means this is a massive operation._ All the more reason to want to take them down as fast as they can.

“Okay, Riley, this is where the payments were wired to. I’m headed for the server room with your program. Soon as we plug it into the system we’ll have access to every one of their files.”

As soon as Riley found out that the account payments from the chip transferred to traced to IntelliCorp, she’d told them this was going to need to be a hard hack. IntelliCorp’s servers have top of the line protection, including being air-gapped to prevent any external hacking. Which is why Mac’s in the building with Riley’s flashdrive.

Jack, beside Mac, is mumbling under his breath about a bad feeling. Mac would be lying if he didn’t say he has one too. Any time they work one of these trafficking cases, it leaves a sick feeling in his stomach. Thieves who steal money or information are one thing. People who can look at another human being and only see an item for sale make Mac shake his head at the state of humanity.

It doesn’t help that he can’t forget that horrible undercover op in Singapore three years ago. _Oversight insisted the only way to break a major trafficking ring was for me to pose as a victim._ _I was so scared._ He hadn’t been in that house long, and Jack and a tac team had gotten the location and come and gotten him and all the other people in there out safely, but he still has nightmares of the way he was leered at, stripped, put up for auction to the highest bidder like he was nothing more than a piece of property. _If Jack hadn’t showed up…_

That shouldn’t ever have to happen to anyone else ever. And the thought that things like that go on every day, and places like this are responsible, makes Mac want to set this whole building on fire right now.

And when he and Jack split up so Jack can deal with the guards while Mac breaks into the server room, he wants to argue. He wants to beg Jack to stay with him, because there’s a cold fear gnawing at him, telling him something bad is going to happen. _Jack is doing his job, so I don’t get caught. All I have to do is get in and get out._ This time there’s no undercover. He’s not going to be treated like that... _breathe. Focus. Get through the doors and get that drive into the server. The faster you do this the faster you go home._

When he finally gets the doors open and steps inside, there’s a painful buzzing in his ear, and then nothing. Something in the building is frying his comms. Probably some of the protections on the tech.

He finds the server tower Riley described fairly easily, and it’s a matter of seconds to plug in her flashdrive. He breathes a faint sigh of relief as he stands up turning around to head for the door…

There’s a gun pointed at him, point blank. He never heard anyone even come in. He raises his hands slowly, trying not to spook the guard behind the gun. A second one, this one in a suit instead of a generic guard uniform, steps up and grabs the comm out of Mac’s ear.

“Looks like you and your partner scoped this place out real good. Pity you didn’t know that if anything electronic that doesn’t have a company chip in it enters the server room, it sets off the silent alarms.” _Jack. They know about Jack. Where is he?_

“I’ll shoot him now, and we’ll get rid of the body tonight.” Mac shudders, but he hopes that at least what information he’s gotten to the team will be enough to take these guys down. Riley should be getting her access to the computers within the next few minutes, he just has to keep them from pulling out the drive until then.

“No. Wait.” A tall woman steps up, pushing the guard’s gun hand down. “I think we might have a use for this one. We need to replace L. There are certain clients who preferred his looks, it’s hard to find a pretty one they like.”

Mac feels a cold shudder run down his spine that even staring down the barrel of a gun didn’t manage to give him. _No, no, please, no._ He’d almost rather they shoot him. Especially if something’s already happened to Jack. _I doubt they’d be as likely to want him, he looks like too much trouble._ Mac’s well aware that he’s a pretty boy, and of the risks that come with it. Too many missions, too many over-interested people, be they bad guys or even some of his MIT classmates and a few fellow soldiers in the Sandbox, have reminded him of that fact. He knows he’s fortunate to have made it out of each of those times safe, but someday his luck is going to run out. And it might be today.

“We’ll give him a trial run. Let Pryor break him in, he’d asked for L and I had to tell him that wasn’t going to work.” She shrugs. “Hopefully he’s not too disappointed.” She turns and moves to the door. “Process him, chip him, and put him with the others.”

Mac wonders if it’s worth trying to get a jump on these guys and run. Unfortunately, someone decides that for him when one of the guards brings his gun down across the back of Mac’s head.

He’s fading in and out of blackness, only vaguely aware of what they’re saying. “One wrong move and you get the other end of the gun.”

* * *

Mac wakes up to a splitting headache, an ache in his shoulders, and the sadly too familiar musty smell of a car trunk. He doesn’t know how far they are from the IntelliCorp building, he doesn’t know where Jack is, whether he’s alive or dead. All he knows is that these people have him and they’re going to sell him.

Desperation pushes past the pain in his skull, and he raises a leg to try and kick out a taillight. His hands are tied behind his back with tight zipties, so he can’t hotwire the lights to flash, but he can possibly get someone to notice a broken out taillight. _If anyone sees that, especially if they can see my foot, they should call the police._ He hopes someone out there is paying attention.

And then the car goes around a tight corner, and with one leg raised Mac is off balance. The motion sends him rolling against the side of the trunk, his head connects with something hard, and the blackness returns.

* * *

Jack doesn’t like it when his joke to Mac about ‘cleaning up’ the guards on the server floor goes unanswered.

“Mac? Bud, you there?”

“We’ve lost comms on Mac,” Riley says. “I’m trying to get them back, but…”

Jack doesn’t need to hear any more. If they can’t talk to Mac, he has to assume the worst. He leaves the unconscious guards in the mop closet along with the broken mop he used to take them down, and runs for the server room.

He’s coming around a corner when gunshots pepper the wall beside him and he instinctively ducks back. He pulls his own gun, which he smuggled into the building stashed in the mop pail, and glances around the corner. _Two guys. Easy peasy._ But if they’re shooting at him, it means they definitely know something’s wrong.

Jack pops out from behind the corner, and takes on guy down before a lucky shot from his partner clips Jack’s arm and sends him spinning back against the wall. “Jack! You have company!” Riley yells.

“I know! Didn’t you hear them shootin’ at me?” At least that means Riley probably has cameras.

“I mean more! Six guys are coming your way!”

Jack’s arm burns, but he’s not stopping anytime soon. _If I keep the attention on me, maybe Mac will have time enough to get out._ He wishes they still had comms, he wants to warn the kid that they’re blown, that he needs to run now, whether the op is done or not. But he can’t.

“Jack! There’s a stairwell behind you, end of the hall on the left. I don’t see any guards in it yet, you need to go now!” Riley sounds like she’s about to panic.

“I’m not leavin’ without Mac.” Jack doesn’t care how many men he has to go through to get to his kid.

“Well, he’s leaving without you!” Riley shouts back. “Jack, it’s too late, they have him.”

“Where. Are. They.” Jack clips every word.

“They just got in an elevator, heading for the basement level. Jack...Mac...they were just dragging him.” Her breaths are getting close to hyperventilation. “I didn’t see blood but he looked so limp, Jack, what if he…”

“No way. I’m gonna get him back, he’s gonna be okay.” Jack turns and runs for the stairs, just as his assailant’s reinforcements arrive and bullets chip out gouges in the wall around him.

He runs into two more guards on the stairs, but thanks to Riley’s warning he’s able to take them down before they even know he’s there. But by the time he reaches the basement, he already knows he’s too late. Riley hasn’t said anything, but it’s just the feeling in Jack’s stomach that tells him Mac is out of his hands.

“They took him to the parking garage.” Riley says. “And from there I lost them. Too many vehicles going in and out, and I didn’t have access to that part of the camera system yet, they found Mac’s flashdrive and pulled it out before I could get in that loop.”

Jack slams his hand against the wall with a frustrated curse as Riley continues.

“I have access to their financial database though. I can find their financial records, see if they’re renting a building that could be used for holding victims...”

“Don’t tell me, just do it!” Jack yells. He’s sorry when hears Riley gasp; _damn it, I just snap when one of my kids is in danger._ “I’m sorry, Riley.”

“I’m scared too, Jack,” Riley says, and he notices that her voice is shaking. “If he’s not already dead, I know what they’re going to do with him.”

* * *

The next time Mac wakes up, it’s to the dim light filtering in through heavy curtains over a window. He’s laying on his back on a thin mattress, and his head is still throbbing. He feels chilly, and when he gingerly moves enough to wrap his arms around himself, he realizes why; his coveralls and the long-sleeve shirt he was wearing under them have been replaced by a thin t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

The building is almost deathly quiet, but he can tell there are people being kept in here. The place doesn’t smell like that warehouse in Myanmar, the human smuggling operation he and Jack accidentally ran across on an op, but it feels lived in. He can smell food cooking, and hear a shower running. But unlike a normal apartment building, there’s no chatter, no one singing, no TVs running, no kids crying. The doors have no personalization in any way, just numbers. It feels alive and dead at the same time.

He guesses the blackout curtains on the windows are to prevent anyone seeing any lights or people inside. He stands up slowly, trying not to make himself too dizzy, and limps over to the window, favoring a leg that feels bruised, probably from the car trunk ride.

He can barely see, but when he extends a hand, he can feel wire mesh across the window, in front of the curtain, too small to get his hand through. _So no one tears one to give anyone from the street a look inside._

Mac blinks a few times, and his eyes start adjusting to the blackness inside the room. There’s the bed he was asleep on, a small table with a plastic cup of water on it, and a blanket folded up at the foot of the bed. He thinks he’s in the bedroom of one of the apartments. He walks to the door and shakes the handle, but it’s locked. _They probably let people they trust more out into the whole apartments._ He’s new and he also isn’t probably their normal type of victim; he broke into their office building so they’re probably being extra careful with him. _But they didn’t realize I’m really good at getting out of tight spots._

He works a screw free of the table with one blunt fingernail, uses it to rip through the mattress fabric, and pulls one of the bed springs out. It’s not ideal, but the wires should help him pick the lock…

He’s bent down in front of the door when he hears a key clicking in the lock of the outer door. He stands up fast, kicking the spring under the bed and then lying back down to cover the torn spot in the mattress.

A tallish man steps into the room, holding a bowl of something that smells like tomato soup. Mac’s stomach growls, he’s awfully hungry and he doesn’t know how long it’s been since he last ate.

The man sets the bowl down on the table and then turns to lean over Mac, probably intending to wake him up. _I could try and take him by surprise, overpower him and run._ But Mac has the feeling that won’t be happening, not when even sitting up too rapidly will probably make him sick. _I’m better off to try and get away without fighting._ Mac flinches when he hears the man’s boot hit the metal spring under the bed.

The guy leans down and picks up the bedspring, glancing at the way it’s bent completely out of shape, ends filed narrow where Mac rubbed them with the screw he’d found, and clearly immediately knows what Mac was attempting to do.

“Get up. I know you’re awake.” Mac doesn’t dare risk disobeying. He sits up slowly, and takes some hollow consolation in the fact that his head doesn’t hurt so much.

“I don’t know if they explained the rules to you clearly enough, but there are punishments for being a problem here.” The man emphasizes each word with a slight shake of his fist. _He’s not going to hit me, though, at least I don’t think so._ Nine times out of ten, traffickers will do whatever they have to to avoid seriously damaging their victims. _It’s harder to sell someone covered in cuts and bruises, unless you cater to a truly sadistic clientele. And it makes them noticeable if someone happens to randomly see them._ He can see a taser holstered on the guy’s belt, though, and he shudders.

“Since it appears you’re good at finding ways to repurpose the amenities we’ve attempted to provide, you’ll no longer be given those privileges.”

Mac flinches when rough hands grab his arms and he’s hauled down two flights of stairs to what seems to be a basement level. The tiny room he’s shoved into has no windows, no bed, and most importantly, no heat.

“You don’t strike me as the suicidal type, but better safe than sorry, after that little stunt with the bedspring” his captor says. “Clothes too.” Mac cringes. It’s not like the plain t-shirt, sweatpants, and socks were all that much warmth, but it was better than nothing, and it made him feel like he was still sort of human to them.

He’s not sure if it’s worse knowing they stripped him to change him into these clothes while he was unconscious, or to have to do it himself in front of this guy. Fortunately the man doesn’t seem to take any special pleasure in it. _I’m sure they couldn’t have someone who was going to go after their people taking care of the place._

The shirt hits the sore spot at the back of his head and neck when he pulls it off, and Mac winces. He knows the pistol whip was to the back of his head, but the ache in his neck is probably from them inserting the chip.

Then the door slams and he’s left alone with nothing.

Mac glances around the room, but it looks like it used to be storage. Even the light switch is on the outside of the room. They did turn it on, but the light is in a cage and too far above his head for him to reach without standing on something. And there’s nothing to stand on.

Mac can’t help but think of the time Patty tried to keep him in that holding room when they were first dealing with Murdoc. He’d gotten out of there in minutes, but that was when he was able to use a zipper from his clothing to unscrew the wall access panel. This room is actually, possibly, legitimately MacGyver-proof. _Patty just didn’t take enough away from me._

Mac shivers. This is New York in March and he’s used to California. He rubs his arms and paces the room, unable to sit down on the icy concrete floor. His feet already feel frozen.

_Jack, please hurry. Please find me._

* * *

SOMEWHERE IN UPSTATE NEW YORK

IT’S REALLY COLD

Mac’s really getting tired of being hauled around in car trunks. A few hours ago, the man from earlier came and pulled him out of that freezing basement room, which Mac was incredibly grateful for; he thinks he only spent an hour or two in there but he was already so cold he’d almost stopped shivering.

Still, he’d rather be there than here. The only reason they brought him out was because tonight is his first ‘job’. Apparently someone who used to buy the victim they found dead is partial to young blonds and Mac is now the replacement.

“Really you should have had a couple weeks of training, especially after what you pulled earlier, but the boss doesn’t want to piss off a payday,” the man who brought him up told him. “Besides, I hear this client likes them with a little fight left in them.”

Mac shudders thinking about that. He wonders if this client is the ‘Pryor’ he heard the woman at IntelliCorp mention.

He didn’t have time to wonder much, because as soon as they reached ground level another man came up with a syringe and injected something into Mac’s arm. He blacked out before he saw where they were taking him.

He woke up here in the car trunk, and judging by the particular side effects of this sedative, the sounds of traffic he can hear outside, and the relative increase in cold since the last time he was in a trunk today...he thinks it was today...it’s been a few hours; it’s night now. And they’re still on the road.

He’s grateful for the blanket they’ve wrapped him in, although he’s still naked underneath it. There’s no avoiding the reality of what’s going to happen to him once they reach their destination. And then the car stops, and the trunk is opened by a man whose face is eerily familiar.

 _John Pryor. Multi-millionaire, on Phoenix radar for involvement in a questionable shipping company that was known to transport unmarked containers that never made it through inspections._ They weren’t sure if the man was involved in arms dealing, black market smuggling, or trafficking, but now Mac’s pretty sure he knows exactly which one of those it was.

 _Pryor probably helps with shipping some of the higher profile victims overseas, where they’ll be harder to track. But I bet because of that he gets to ask to keep any he particularly wants._ Which is probably why Kevin Lisson, who was Pryor’s type, was still in the country.

The man hauls Mac out of the trunk, and he nearly faceplants into the snow. The cold air momentarily made him more awake, but that sedative stays at work for a long time even after consciousness comes back. _On an empty stomach, with a head injury..._ This one isn’t particularly dangerous normally, but this is a very bad combination...

“It’s a little more expensive to have them deliver to this place, but so worth it,” Pryor smiles coldly, and his voice is frostier than the air and the snow covering the ground between the car and a small cabin that’s swaying in and out of focus in Mac’s vision. “Out here, no one will hear you scream.”

Mac passes out again halfway to the cabin, and when he wakes up, he’s laid out on his stomach on a bed, hands cuffed together and the chain around one of the wooden rungs of the bedstead. There’s no sign of Pryor, but Mac can hear voices in another room.

“...like him to be awake for this. They’re no fun when they don’t scream.” The words are both terrifying and oddly reassuring...Mac might have a little longer before Pryor comes in to see if he’s awake yet.

The drugs are making everything so hazy…but they haven’t been careful enough. There’s a loose spot where the rung connects to the headboard. Mac dimly, nervously wonders if Pryor has a habit of tying all of his victims to the same spot, and that’s why there’s this much damage. He carefully wiggles the rung back and forth, and finally the peg holding it in place breaks off completely. He pushes it to the side far enough to pull the handcuff chain off, and then stands up slowly. The room is spinning and there’s dark shadows at the edges of his vision.

 _I have to get out of here, before they come back._ He moves toward the window to see if it’s latched securely, but stops when he catches sight of his body in a mirror on the dresser in the room.

There’s something dark at the back of his neck, he can barely see it in the mirror but…

He doesn’t want to look, but he has to. His hands are pushing away the hair almost without him aware of it. He wants to be sick when he sees the tattoo. It’s a large black circle with two interlocking V shapes inside it.

He was so glad that on his undercover, the people selling him didn’t have either the time or inclination to leave any permanent ink. Maybe because he was just being sold again, to someone else who would have decided how to mark him. This time, he’s just a rental, and like a rental car, he’s been chipped and marked.

He couldn’t see it before, and he thought the ache and tenderness was just because of the chip being inserted. _They can get that out. This..._ He wants it gone forever, right now. _I don’t belong to them. They have no right to brand me like I’m their property._ The thought that no matter what, this sticks with him for the rest of his life, is absolutely horrifying.

The voices in the other room stop, and Mac hears footsteps coming toward the door. He got distracted and now he’s paying the price. The part of his drugged brain that screams for a flight response wins, and he unlatches the window, throwing it open and tumbling out just as the door opens.

The snowdrift underneath the window swallows him almost entirely, and it oddly feels more like it’s burning than freezing on his skin. He gasps, shivering uncontrollably. _This was a terrible plan._ Even if he gets away he’ll freeze to death out here in hours. _Why didn’t I find something warm?_ His scattered mind is a little more alert after the sobering dip in the snow, he feels a little less confused and disoriented, but that’s not helping now, because he can’t go back to find clothes or a blanket…

And then he hears footsteps coming toward him, apparently Pryor chose not to follow him out the window, but to go out the door.

“Now really, where were you going to go? This is the only shelter for miles.” The man’s voice is mocking. “I can’t decide if you’re smart or stupid. Smart enough to get out of where you’re tied, stupid enough to try to walk off naked in a snowstorm.” Pryor grabs his wrist in a crushing grip, pulling him upright. “They warned me you were going to be trouble.” Mac tries to pull away, but in the drug-induced fog, he can only weakly squirm and stumble.

He’s dragged back through the door, past the car driver, who’s sitting at a table with a mug of coffee and just shrugs when Mac stumbles, shivering and dripping melting snow, past him. Pryor shoves him through the bedroom door, then onto the bed itself, holding Mac down tightly while he secures the handcuffs to a new rail.

He backs off momentarily, but Mac can hear the sound of a belt unbuckling, and he knows he’s run out of time. No more stalling, no more attempts to escape.

Mac curls into a huddle on the bed, sobbing wretchedly. _It’s too late. Jack’s too late._

* * *

Jack is driving like a crazy man. He’s got the pedal to the floor, ignoring the snow blowing across the road as he whips around corners and curves, following the signal Riley finally, freaking finally, got a trace on.

Raiding the apartment building Riley found in IntelliCorp’s finances freed twenty-seven people, all men between twenty and thirty years old. Riley’s gotten information on three other buildings in other parts of the state that tac teams are on their way to now, but this is the one Mac was most likely taken to. And he wasn’t there.

Jack already knows what that means. Which was only confirmed when Riley hacked into the phone that used to belong to the building manager and found a list of chip ID codes, with six marked as “unavailable”.

As soon as she IDed the most recent chip number uploaded, she enabled the tracking function, and now Jack’s following that signal further and further north. He’d been hoping that, when it was still moving, that meant Mac was just in transit, and that they might stand a chance of catching up. But within fifteen minutes of finding it, the signal had gone still. And it hasn’t moved since.

Jack lets any thought of what’s happening to his partner fuel only the anger keeping him alert and on the road. If he lets the grief break through, he’s going to have to pull over right here because he’s going to start throwing up and sobbing.

Beside him, Riley sounds like she’s trying just as hard to keep it together. Her breathing is fast and shallow, and he normally steady hands are shaking, she keeps backspacing after typing in a way that isn’t common for the experienced hacker.

It’s been almost a full day since they broke into IntelliCorp. _Op started at 4 am when the cleaning crews moved in._ It’s 1:12 on the dashboard clock. _Mac’s been in the hands of those monsters for twenty-one hours._ Jack can only imagine the damage they’ve been able to do in that time. _The last time traffickers had him, it was only four hours between the time he slipped in with the shipment of victims and the time we raided the house._ And Mac had still been a shaky mess, clinging to Jack and crying once they got in the exfil vehicle. Jack hadn’t wanted to think about how close he and the tac team had come to missing their window, to the auction being over and the buyers walking away with the people they’d bid on. _Mac could have disappeared right then and we’d never have seen him again._ He’s never forgiven Oversight for okaying that op; just like he’s never forgiven him for putting Mac in Bishop prison. When Jack finally gets a face to face with whoever it is, they have a hell of a lot to answer for. But the truth is, he can’t blame Oversight for this fiasco. _This is my fault. I left Mac alone, and they caught him because I didn’t have his back, because I didn’t do my job. I failed him, and I need to make it right._

Riley looks up from her computer, a look of concern on her face.

“It’s moving again. Coming our way fast.” Jack slacks off a little on the speed, then spins the massive SUV so it slides to a stop totally blocking the road. When he sees the headlights come around the corner, he sets the parking brake and smiles grimly. They’re not getting past him.

* * *

The world flickers in and out. Mac remembers being dragged back to the bed, he dimly remembers what happened, again and again until Pryor wore them both out. He blacked out for a while after that. Then he woke up here, in the trunk of a car, shivering uncontrollably, with his wrists and ankles ziptied, and then tied together behind his back, pulling his already sore body into an even more uncomfortable position.

It can’t have been too long since the last...the last time. He’s still sweaty, which makes the shivering even worse because not only is he naked in the back of a car in a New York winter, he’s wet and exhausted.

Is this because he tried to get away? Human merchandise is valuable, he doesn’t think people like this can afford to be wantonly cruel. Is this punishment? Some kind of initiation of the new blood? He’s not sure. All he knows is that it’s going to be a _long_ ride back.

And then the car fishtails, slamming his already abused body against the sides of the trunk. He’d cry if he had any energy left for it. _Are we going to crash out here, in the middle of nowhere?_ He knows if they do, nothing good is going to happen. The driver’s not going to want to drag him around with them to flag down help, if the crash doesn’t kill him or Mac when it happens. The driver might just decide to shoot him, but what if he doesn’t? What if Mac dies here locked in the trunk, slowly freezing? How long will it be before someone finds him? What if this is the last Jack sees of him, trapped and frozen and clearly hurt and terrified before he died? _Jack would never forgive himself for that._

The car skids, spinning, and then hits what’s probably a snowbank, judging by the dull thud. Mac can hear yelling outside. _Did someone stop the car? Was there a blockade?_ And then the trunk pops open and he’s staring up at the face he wanted to see most in the whole world.

* * *

The second the car slams into the drift, Jack’s vaulting over the hood of the Yukon and running. He got out, and made Riley do it too, when they saw the car coming, in case the driver was enough of an idiot to ram them. Apparently he wasn’t.

He leaves Riley holding his gun on the driver, who doesn’t seem inclined to further piss off the girl who looks like she’ll shoot him if he twitches. _Riley’s never been fond of pulling a gun, and I know she’s got a thing about doing what she has to do if it comes down to it, but this time I think she’d actually shoot him._

But Riley’s slightly less likely to shoot than Jack, which is why she’s the one with the gun right now. That and the fact that all Jack wants to do is get to Mac. He’s possibly the only person in the world the kid will trust right now, depending on what’s happened to him.

Jack grabs the car keys and rushes to the trunk, popping it open and lifting it, to see Mac huddled inside, shivering, a rough, shabby blanket only barely covering him.

“Oh kid.” Jack whispers, a burning, choking feeling in his throat that’s equal parts anger, grief, and pity rising at the sight of Mac in the back of that car. He pulls his own jacket off and tucks it around the kid’s body before leaning in to pick him up.

Mac flinches away, shivering even harder and panting fearfully. Jack wonders if the kid’s drugged or concussed, or if the past twenty-four hours have just left him this traumatized on their own.

“Jack,” Mac whispers, and then he practically throws himself at him. Jack wraps his arms around Mac, picking him up with jacket, blanket, and all, and carrying him to the SUV. He can hear the sirens coming up in the distance, the police were playing it safer than he was. As soon as they get here, he’s gonna be able to take Mac home.

Thanks to Matty, Mac will be allowed to walk away without needing to make a statement right now. Several of the other victims already have given out enough information to take down the whole ring. They’ll need Mac to get Pryor, but that can be done at the Phoenix, with people he knows and trusts.

Even though it takes longer, Jack lets Riley drive them back. He can’t leave Mac. The kid’s clearly coming down off some kind of drug, and he’s miserably cold. Jack sits beside him, running his fingers through the sweat-soaked hair. “It’s okay, Mac, you’re gonna be okay.” Even though there’s no way he can guarantee it, he’s going to do everything in his power to make that true.

* * *

TWO WEEKS LATER

“FRESH INK” TATTOO SHOP

It was Jack’s idea to come here. Mostly so that Mac would stop trying to figure out how to remove the tattoo with the admittedly semi-dangerous caustic chemicals in the Phoenix labs. _I’m a literal genius, I should be able to figure out how to make something that dissolves the ink._ But the combinations he’s figured out so far are risky and kind of dangerous.

He also knows Riley knows about the multiple searches he’s made on ways to remove tattoos either naturally or with normal means. But all of it takes so much time, and sometimes it doesn’t work properly…

It was also Riley, probably at Jack’s insistence, that found this place. Mac didn’t know until they pulled up outside that Jack was taking him here, probably because he would have protested. It’s a normal tattoo parlor, but the owner also runs a nonprofit on the side, where he specializes in working with trafficking survivors who were tattooed by the people selling them. Mac doesn’t want some stranger to know what happened to him. But it’s a little late for that now.

The man is really nice, and he doesn’t even touch so much as Mac’s hair when he takes a look at the ink. He’s letting Mac show him, and that immediately makes him feel better. He doesn’t ask too many questions about the circumstances, probably because he already knows as much as he needs to about it. He just asks how long ago it was done, and when Mac tells him, the man seems to consider the options.

“It’s already begun to set, especially because it was done fast and with the wrong tools. They’ve gone deeper than they should have.” He sighs. “That’s unfortunately incredibly common with people who aren’t properly trained; to be too heavy-handed with the needles.”

Mac already knows that. It hurts too much to be a normal tattoo; Riley has a little sunflower on the back of _her_ neck and says it shouldn’t still ache after over a week and a half, especially not since it was all thin lines, not even full color like hers.

“Anything we do to take this off will scar, permanently. The skin’s too thin here for it not to.” The man puts a hand gently on Mac’s arm. “There’s also the option of covering it up with something else.”

Mac wants that mark gone. Permanently. But he also doesn’t want any scars in its place. _I don’t want to look at myself in the mirror and always be reminded of what happened._

“Let me think about it.” He stands up, pulling up the collar of the turtleneck sweater he’s wearing to cover the mark, and joins Jack outside.

When he tells Jack what the man told him, Jack nods. “You don’t have to decide anything right away, bud.” But Jack doesn’t know what it feels like to be walking around with a mark on his neck that reduces him to nothing more than a price tag.

_What am I going to do now?_

* * *

Jack wakes up before the knock on the bedroom door. He can hear the footsteps in the hall stop at his door, and even though in his dream, it was the cat-headed monkey, he was still aware of the sound.

He jumps out of bed and grabs his gun out of habit, although he already know who it is by step cadence. _Mac._ He opens the door, surprised Mac didn’t just walk in. But the kid’s been acting so uncertain and shy, like he’s afraid to make a mistake or overstep boundaries.

“Mac?” Jack didn’t expect to see the kid up so early. He ushers Mac in, and gives the kid a quick once over. Mac, buried in one of Jack’s oversized hoodies, doesn’t look shaky or more scared than usual, so he’s not having another nightmare. He hasn’t had one for a few nights now; but he still hasn’t said he wants to leave Jack’s apartment.

“Can we go back to that tattoo place today?” Mac asks.

“Sure, kid, you decide what you wanted to do?” Jack knows Mac wasn’t happy with any of his options. _But at this point that’s all he’s going to get._ Jack won’t admit to Mac that he feels the same as the kid does. _I want that mark gone too. Because every time I look at it, it’s a reminder that I didn’t do my job. That this happened to Mac because I failed him._ But Jack would never saddle the kid with the extra reasons to hate that tattoo.

“I want him to cover it. With this.” Mac holds up a sketch. It’s a phoenix in flight, surrounded by a circle. Perfectly designed to cover up the ink already there. “I decided trying to get rid of what happened...was just lying to myself,” Mac says quietly. “I want to pretend it never happened, that I’m still the same as I was two weeks ago, but that’s not true. And...eventually I’m not going to be able to pretend anymore.” The thought that Mac’s been having such a serious conversation about this all in his own head hurts. “So making it disappear, even if I could figure out a way to do it that would make it like there was never anything there, isn’t going to work. But I can take it and turn it into something else.” He glances down at the phoenix sketch. “I didn’t think this would ever really mean so much to me, but a phoenix is perfect. Letting what should destroy you make you stronger.”

Jack reaches out and gently pulls Mac into a hug, careful not to crumple the paper in his hand. “Yeah, buddy, it is. It’s perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> The section about traffickers tattooing their victims is actually something that happens in real world cases. Fortunately, the tattoo shops that do nonprofit work to change those tattoos are also real. I created a fictional California one for this story, but there's a real one in the general area where I live, and if you're interested in learning more about this kind of thing, you can check out their website (http://ink180.com)


End file.
